Elizabeth knew they could not decline, it would be rude to. Besides, she knew Jane longed to spend more time with Mr Bingley. Thus, she reluctantly accepted.
Tea with the Bingleys as well as Mr Darcy—who has still not spoken beyond the initial greeting- and his friend should prove to be rather exhilarating indeed.
***
Caroline’s invitation to tea at Longbourn was accepted with varying degrees of enthusiasm, though politeness demanded acquiescence from all parties. Within the hour, they were settled in the modest drawing room that Bingley had made comfortable despite its limited grandeur.
The awkwardness was immediate and palpable. Caroline bustled about, directing servants with unnecessary precision whilst maintaining a stream of obsequious commentary directed at Jane and Elizabeth. “Lady Jane, you must have the chair nearest the fire—I insist! And Lady Elizabeth, surely you require another cushion?”
Darcy had positioned himself near the window, not far from where Jane and Bingley sat on the chaise. He accepted tea with a murmured thanks and seemed to shrink into himself, clearly uncomfortable with the social complexity of the gathering. His eyes, she noted, wandered between her and Wickham.
Wickham, by contrast, appeared entirely at home. He had secured the chair closest to Elizabeth and was regaling the company with tales of his travels, his manner so engaging that even Caroline paused in her fussing to listen.
“I am entirely charmed by Hertfordshire,” Wickham said, his attention focused primarily on Elizabeth. “The countryside possesses a particular beauty, and the society…” His eyes met hers with unmistakable warmth. “Well, the society exceeds all expectations.”
“You were raised in Derbyshire, I understand?” Elizabeth responded to his practiced charm despite recognising it for what it was.
“Indeed! Darcy and I are quite like brothers, are we not, Fitzwilliam?” Wickham’s grin held mischief that made Darcy visibly tense. “We shared everything as boys—lessons, adventures, even punishments.”
“How fascinating,” Caroline interjected. “Childhood companions often share such amusing memories.”
“Oh, we have stories aplenty,” Wickham agreed with evident relish. “There was the time poor Fitzwilliam here attempted to impress Lady Anne by reciting poetry from memory—only to discover halfway through that he was mixing up three different sonnets into complete nonsense.”
She saw Darcy’s cheeks flare red. “George—”
“Or the memorable afternoon when he decided to demonstrate his horsemanship by attempting to jump the garden wall,” Wickham continued, his eyes dancing. “The resulting tumble into the rose bushes left him looking rather like a pincushion for the remainder of the week.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy’s growing discomfort with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. The man who had lectured her about proper deportment was being systematically embarrassed by his childhood companion, and she could notentirely suppress her entertainment at the reversal. Though the way he looked around the room, rather lost, made her feel sympathy as well.
“We were children,” Darcy said stiffly. “All children commit foolish acts. I will refrain from sharing some of your activities, given we are in polite company.”
“Well, I am grateful,” Wickham agreed. “Though I can withstand a little light regaling if you choose to. But you were always the more serious one.” He turned back to Elizabeth and Caroline. “Poor lad always took his scoldings so seriously—he never learned the art of a well-timed apology or winning smile.”
The barb struck home, and Elizabeth noticed Darcy’s jaw tighten with suppressed irritation.
“Speaking of charm,” Wickham said, turning in the direction of Bingley, “I understand there is to be a ball at Netherfield soon. What a delightful prospect—I do hope I might presume to attend?”
“Of course you must come!” Bingley exclaimed. “The more the merrier, I always say.” He paused, as if he had forgotten that it was not he who was hosting a ball. He looked at Jane. “That is, if Lady Jane and Lady Elizabeth do not mind if I bring you as my guest.”
“Of course not,” Jane said quickly.
Darcy’s expression suggested he did not share this sentiment, though he said nothing. Elizabeth could not help but wonder what their shared past was like. It was clear Darcy did not hold much affection for Wickham, and Wickham had taken too much delight in mortifying Darcy to be considered brotherly.
Yet, they had grown up together.
“You are too kind, Mr Bingley,” Wickham said. “I confess I had hoped for such an opportunity. It has been far too long since I had occasion to dance with such accomplished partners.”
His gaze lingered on Elizabeth, who felt a flutter of gratification despite her better judgement. Wickham possessed an undeniable talent for making a woman feel particularly noticed and appreciated.
Still, she could not help but feel a bad taste in the back of her mouth. As if something had gone off, not entirely but slightly. Like sour milk in porridge, the rancid taste covered by sugar.
She prided herself on her ability to tell people’s characters but she had to admit, Mr Wickham—and Mr Darcy—left her rather confusing.
Chapter Eight
Darcy
After the ladies had departed, Caroline cornered Wickham near the tea service, subjecting him to her own version of determined charm, which left Bingley and Darcy with a rare moment of privacy.
